"Does Vera remember any of her previous life?" I asked.
"Not as you call remembrance," he answered, "though shadows flit across her mind at times."
"You have not told her about it, then?"
"No, it would not be wise; she is going with me now to Aphar, where she will become in time one of the priestesses. As soon as her spirit can leave the body, she will begin to learn the mystery of the past, and it will not be very many years, I expect, before we shall both leave this earth and go into the higher world which lies beyond and around us."
"Shall you never return here?" I asked.
"When the time comes for us to leave we will come to you before we go, but not till then."
"What will become of your house while you are away?"
"Before to-morrow night you will know."
The next morning I said good-bye to Sydney and Vera. As they drove away in the bright sunlight the child looked the personification of joy, but when my friend turned round to wave a last adieu, I knew that he was sorry: sorry because with the sensitiveness of his nature he knew my pain, and felt that I should be very lonely when he had gone.
That evening while sitting in my study I noticed a brilliant light as though some large building was on fire. I hastened out; there could be no mistake, this light proceeded from the direction of Sydney's house: before I arrived on the scene, there was a slight explosion, and flames were suddenly tossed high into the air. When I reached the building it was a ruin; only a few walls now stood to mark the spot where so many treasures had been gathered together.